


Some Things Are Better Left Unknown

by MayorMimi



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Also Futaba but damn Yusuke’s thick headed, Ambiguity, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Bickering, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, First Crush, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Late Night Conversations, Misunderstandings, Morgana having the only brain cell, Oblivious, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Shopping, Snacks & Snack Food, Surprises, Teasing, The whole party’s at least a little thick headed too, Yusuke being dense asf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayorMimi/pseuds/MayorMimi
Summary: Inari had that je ne sais quoi that made him stick out to Futaba even--no--especially in his absence. She couldn't for the life of her pinpoint why; the thing about a girl's first crush is that it takes her ages to discover it and the thing about an unwanted crush is that she's far from pleased--to say the least--if she does.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Sakura Futaba, Kurusu Akira & Sakura Futaba, Morgana & Sakura Futaba
Comments: 15
Kudos: 105





	1. We Can’t All Be Mature

Futaba crossed the threshold of Leblanc’s entrance on an October afternoon to find all her friends grouped around a table coated in pencil cases and exercise books—at least, all but one. Akira had been hunched over a social studies textbook open between Ryuji and him, clarifying a concept to his companion while Ann corrected Makoto’s English essay with a glitter gel pen. Morgana had been coiled on Haru’s lap while dozing off, free of the tension and unease that came with being a student. “Exams?”  
  
“Just homework.” Haru seemed to be the only person who bothered to respond.

Futaba tugged at her fingers and fidgeted. “Oh. From how serious you all looked, I thought…” She couldn’t help but sense a void in their gathering. “Where’s Inari?”  
  
“Not in our school,” grumbled Ryuji, his tongue pressing against the walls of his teeth as he recounted a few technical terms in his mind. “Remember?”

“Right, right. But didn’t he solve his summer vacation home--?”

“Assignments given on holidays aren’t comparable to work due tomorrow,” interjected Makoto, hoping to conclude the conversation before the group’s attention to their tasks dwindled any longer. Fortunately for her, only Ryuji seemed to have left off his assignment.

Alas, Haru still found the opportunity to pursue another question. “Why do you ask?” 

“No reason.” Futaba lifted her hands before her, almost defensively. “Just curious.” There was a shift in her tone. “Thank God for that, though.”  
  
“Ditto,” Ryuji chimed in, “you two’d be at each other’s throats and we’d never get any work done.”  
  
“You’re still not getting any work done.” Ann gave Ryuji a sharp kick under the table, then turned to Futaba and added, “You can squeeze in next to Makoto and me if you like.”  
  
“Nah, I think I’ll just play Punch Ouch upstairs.” Before any of the students could interject, Futaba scuttled up the creaking steps until the sound of grating wood dissolved. The noise woke Morgana up, and he sensed a smell in the air similar to dust and burnt chemicals—like an old computer lab. 

He yawned, before directing a question at Haru, “Futaba?”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“I’ll keep her company. She was looking forward to seeing you guys, y’ know.” He hopped off Haru’s lap. Akira supposed keeping Morgana at Leblanc for the day had its perks, sometimes. His insightfulness proved to occasionally be advantageous when it was directed elsewhere.

Haru angled her head and scrutinized the vacant stairs. “We invited her to sit with us. _She_ left on her own.”

“Doesn’t sound like her,” mused Morgana. “At least, not these days.”

  
  
Futaba had been furiously mashing the A button and nearly slid off the front of her chair before Morgana’s presence in Akira’s room brought her back to reality. She became aware of herself and first corrected her posture—which Ann had been nagging at her to remember—before pausing to nod at him in acknowledgment. “What’re you doing here, playing games all by yourself?”

“There's a redundant question if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I mean you couldn’t stop prattling about how eager you were to meet up with the group after school.” Morgana stopped by Futaba’s chair as she unpaused the game. “So, what changed?”  
  
“Don’t feel like it anymore. Is that a problem?”  
  
“Just wondering.” For some time after that, only sound effects indicating strikes and blows could be heard. Futaba’s wooden expression implied she was fixated on the game and Morgana began to consider returning downstairs.

She broke the half-silence. “If Inari attends a different school, does that mean he never joins their study groups?”

“Not necessarily; Yusuke was around to revise for exams before we met you. Though, he spent most of it eating our snacks and self-studying algebra. Might as well have been in his dorm, if you ask me.”

“Oh. When’s Akira’s next set of exams coming up?”

“In a week, maybe two. What difference does it make to you?”

“Nothing.” Futaba couldn’t suppress a small, hopeful smile at this. “Nothing at all.”  
  
“On the topic of Yusuke, since he’s not here, that’s all the more reason for you to join us downstairs. It’s the only chance you’ll get of spending an afternoon with us without getting into a dispute if you ask me.” Morgana grinned as well as any cat could manage.

Futaba had been caught off-guard by this and ended up losing the round. She scowled at Morgana. “Sounds like _you’re_ instigating one yourself.”  
  
“I’d say I’m kidding if it weren’t true.” With what seemed to conclude the conversation, he vanished back down the stairs.

On the account of Morgana’s request, Futaba joined her friends about half an hour later. She sat adjacent to Makoto and Ann, facing the three other students struggling to get some Japanese lesson through Ryuji’s thick skull and a portrait by the entrance. _Sayuri_ had a way of keeping Futaba company when the cafe was vacant. Even in Morgana and Akira’s absence, she somehow felt the presence of another party member linger. So, there sat Futaba with her cheek in hand, gazing at the portrait while blocking out all the voices that seemed to blend as one incessant, meaningless sound. 

The noise drifted in through one of Futaba’s ears and out the other without leaving an impression on her. They may as well have been speaking gibberish and she would’ve never noticed. That was especially the case for Ann and Makoto, who were still working out their English essay. At intervals, Futaba would perceive someone waving or snapping their fingers to seize her attention, but she never really _saw_ or _heard_ any of this occur. That was until Haru’s voice stood out loud and clear against the white noise as she said something that redirected Futaba’s awareness back to reality.

“Inari, you say?” Futaba startled the rest of the table by speaking out of the blue in a voice a little louder than her seatmates’. 

Haru was the only one unfazed enough to chuckle. “ _Inarizushi_. You know, with the fried tofu pockets.” Futaba’s eyebrows knitted. Haru proceeded to clarify, “I was just telling Ann how my classmate turned her bento sushi into a cute mascot from a show we grew up watching—you might be too young to remember it.”

“Sushi, right…Of course.”  
  
“Was saying _Inari_ all it took to perk you up?” Laughed Ann, giving Futaba a sly smile. Futaba twitched at this and drew herself a bit further away from Ann, who continued, “Sounds like someone’s hungry.” The older girl turned back to her friend. “Anyway, go on, Haru.”

The two were quick to forget Futaba and move on while Futaba herself lingered on the exchange, somewhat unsettled by her own reaction. “ _Of course that’s what Ann was referring to_ ,” she reflected. Futaba traced little circles on her thin knee, trying her best to take her mind off the matter before it could persist like an itch for the rest of the night.  
  


“That’s it, I’m no longer human.” She perched herself at the counter in Leblanc the following day, shuddering and rubbing her upper arms. The tip of her nose had gone cold and her teeth chattered faster than the odd wind-up toy she had since she was ten. A sneeze interrupted Futaba before she sniffed and concluded, “I’m a popsicle with thumbs.”

“No wonder you liked it so much in that desert tomb,” remarked Akira, who had been pottering about the kitchen brewing coffee and preparing snacks, giving Futaba the impression of a mother with guests over. Morgana kept an eye on him from his spot on the countertop, watching him drift to and fro like a tennis ball. “You’re sensitive to the cold, aren’t you?”

“If anything, it’s a bit stuffy in this room,” retorted Yusuke. He had been seated where the group worked on their assignments the previous afternoon with an electric fan perched on the table before him and his face positioned where the cold air would blow. Next to the artist sat the clay model of a bust of a man Yusuke referred to as ‘ _Higashisanjō_ ’, though he refused to clarify who exactly that was. Opposite to him Makoto, Haru, and Ann had squeezed together to study while Ryuji played hooky at an arcade in Shibuya. It didn’t feel empty to Futaba without Ryuji, no doubt because she deemed an afternoon at an arcade well-spent.

Futaba bit her lip with slight indignation. “Only because you were fortunate enough to come in a blazer. I underestimated the weather and showed up in this—” She spread her arms to indicate her unwisely selected shoulderless top and shorts—“consequence of hibernating in my room for so long, I suppose.”

Yusuke held out his hands before him in the shape of a frame, centering on Futaba. “There’s a striking pose,” he said, “hold it.” The artist reached for his sketchbook and box of Conté sticks, not noticing his subject’s face redden slightly before she dropped her arms and turned away. Futaba found herself accustomed to catching him at times attempting to sum up her profile with stub pencils on the back of envelopes, but she knew he’d quit if she moved around enough to frustrate him. Holding a pose as she sat face-to-face with him wasn’t half as simple.

“No one’s blaming you,” soothed Akira, “it took me a while to adjust to the climate in the big city. I lived in Nagano prefecture. That’s northwest from here.”

“Jeez, summer must’ve been rough.” Futaba was quick to force her attention from Yusuke onto her older brother figure. Lifting her glasses to rub her eyes, she went on, “I almost feel bad for making you live through _Prince Of Egypt_.”

“For now, why don’t you sit closer to the door? I’m sure the sunlight will do some good.” He tipped the coffee pot into mugs and bunched them onto a tray. “At least it’s better than icing over in a dark corner.” Akira punctuated the suggestion by handing the tray to Futaba.

Haru peered up from her biology exercise book at Futaba, who had paused in her tracks to suppress a yawn. “It could be drowsiness. I don’t know about you, but I get a bit chilly when I’m tired. Did you get any sleep last night?”  
  
“I may or may have not stayed up to beat _Star Forneus_ ,” confessed Futaba. Noticing Makoto’s sigh, she defended, “What? I was on the last level. Finishing it was worth sacrificing a few hours of shut-eye.”

When she distributed the mugs between the four students, Futaba was quick to take a seat by Haru before she realized there wasn’t any space left. Somewhat disappointed, she settled for sitting by Yusuke instead. The warmth and sedative nature of the sunbeams hitting Futaba surprised her. She leaned back, mindful not to slouch lest Ann told her off, and closed her eyes. Futaba found her head nodding slowly to the left, then dipping to the right, and back again until finally, it dropped onto someone’s shoulder.

She opened her eyes, only capable of seeing clearly through one because the impact left her glasses askew, to find her cheek pressed against the sleeve of a gray blazer and register she had been leaning against Yusuke’s arm. Futaba was quick to sit up, hoping he hadn’t noticed. Yusuke only slid his mug of coffee towards her and mumbled, “You can have this if you like.”

“I’m good.”  
  
“I’m in no mood for hot drinks. I’d prefer iced coffee if it were up to me.” She considered the mug, watching the aromatic steam it breathed into the air, yet Futaba still didn’t look convinced. “I didn’t drink from it if that makes a difference.”

“In that case…” She lifted the piping hot cup close to her face, enjoying the warmth despite the mist fogging her glasses. Futaba’s first few sips delivered a surge of energy that bolted her awake—a transition Haru found similar to watching an inflatable toy blow up. Downing a mouthful, she rested the mug onto the table and wiped her glasses to make out an illustration on Yusuke’s drawing pad. Futaba recognized that serpent crown and _kalasiris_ anywhere.

“Coffee thawed you out, I presume?” When his leg shifted slightly as he worked and brushed hers, Futaba withdrew and gathered her knees to her chest.  
  
She tried not to notice his elbow occasionally pressing against her arm while Yusuke made large strokes. “Never mind that. You’re still trying to sketch me in that ridiculous pose?”

“If I can’t have you as my model, I’ll have to recreate you from memory.” He tapped his forehead. “The sight of you in those linen wraps is still here.”  
  
“That’s—that’s creepy…” Futaba found it difficult to gather her thoughts when she sat close enough to Yusuke to detect from him the earthy aroma of clay and sweet woody fragrance of charcoal pencils. Feeling light-headed and dizzy, she held her breath as well as she could. “I didn’t give you permission t—”

“Everything I do is creepy to you.”

“That’s because you _are_ a creep.”

“They’re at it again,” whispered Haru as she watched them continue. Playing peacekeeper was a wearying role when she had to deal with a headstrong pair. 

Ann reasoned, “Calling him a creep isn’t all that far-fetched.”  
  
“You’re not helping.” Makoto scowled at Ann, hardly audible over the yelling pair. It was the first time she had spoken during the past hour, as she had been previously absorbed in a compendium. Whatever disturbed her studies, however, was worth her broken silence. 

Ann exchanged a knowing look with Akira and Morgana, then the three grinned as if they had been a part of an inside joke. At Makoto, she shrugged. “Am I wrong?”

“To be fair, Futaba ought to stop getting on his case so often,” asserted Haru. “Sometimes she seems to pick an argument with him out of the blue for the sake of it.”

“I heard kids do that for attention,” observed Ann, "though I don’t see what reason she might have.”

“In any case,” Futaba’s voice rose over the other girls’ murmurs, “is it just me or is it hot in here? I’m feeling light-headed.”

“The room’s fine. Although your face is red.” Haru stirred the cream in her coffee with a teaspoon. 

Ann chimed in, "That’s what happens when you get into a heated quarrel about nothing." 

"Well..." Futaba held the back of a hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth from it. “What—Whatever! Quit hogging the fan.” She redirected the electric fan towards her, drawing herself up a few inches to reach the path of the cold air. 

“You’re the one hogging it.” Yusuke leaned in closer to Futaba and placed his hand on hers to angle the fan towards him. 

Her hand shot away and pressed onto his face in an attempt to shove him off. “Don’t lean in so close!”

“Then stop pushing, I nearly knocked over Higashisanjō!”

“There they go,” Akira sighed as he stood arms akimbo. Morgana only shook his head.

Futaba and Akira stayed up playing his recently bought Featherman R game late into the night, both aware of their own drowsiness yet mistakenly assumed their companion was wide awake. The room was tar-black save for the light from the CRT TV, which reflected in the glasses of both teenagers and masked their eyes from each other. At this point, the two had been mashing buttons on instinct without a second thought in silence. Morgana had been sprawled on his side in Akira’s bed, listening to the clicks from the remote and trying not to doze off before Akira.

Finally, Futaba spoke up: “I’ve been wondering…”

“Mm?”  
  
“Ever disliked someone so much you couldn’t stop thinking about them?”  
  
“Can’t say I have.”  
  
“I’ve liked someone so much I couldn’t stop thinking about them.” Morgana flopped onto his stomach and lifted his head to fixate his drowsy stare on Futaba’s back.

Akira looked away for a fleeting moment to search Futaba’s face. There, he found no trace of any emotion indicative of her thoughts. “Is there someone like that in your life?”

“ _Which_ do you mean?”  
  
“Either work.”

“I…” Futaba's voice vanished. The image of Yusuke’s expression as he concentrated on her face flickered in her mind. It was difficult to forget the way she saw the reflection of herself in his eyes peering into her own. “It’s funny.”

“Hm?”

“That never occurred to me.” Futaba paused the game and tucked her knees under her chin. “Now that it has, I can’t say I don’t regret bringing up the subject.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Some things are better left unknown.” Akira opened his mouth to retort as she rose from her chair, before Futaba cut him off, “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Wait, forget that.” He looked from the petite silhouette of her making her way towards the stairs of the attic to the muted TV. “We haven’t even reached a save point.”

“Morgana can do it for me.” The girl vanished down the steps. Akira waited until he heard a distant door open and close, along with the chime of a bell announcing his playmate's departure. He pouted a bit at her untimely mood swing.

Akira looked to Morgana for clarification. “What was _that_ about?”

“Late bloomer if I’ve ever seen one.”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“We can’t all be mature, Akira. Overreactions are part of growing up.” He watched Akira turn Futaba’s controller over in his hands and inspect it. “What’re you doing?”

“Do you think one would need thumbs to use this?”

“Ugh.” Morgana flopped back over onto his side. “Just go to bed.”


	2. Clueless

Futaba squatted outside Leblanc under the subdued sunlight the next morning, in weather faded like an old photograph while she followed the pockmarks of the concrete with her eyes absentmindedly. She might’ve been taken for a juvenile hoodlum or unruly mischief-maker had she been Ryuji or Akira, but as herself, Futaba only looked like a lost child. She felt the body of a cat brush against her back in passing and wondered if a stray had appeared to keep her company. Upon checking, Futaba discovered it was only Morgana, who rested his chin against her knee to peer into her face. “What’s got you down?”

“Nothing.” Morgana’s cheeks found themselves squeezed between her index finger and thumb. This elicited a sharp hiss as he tried to claw her at her fingers, only for her hands to shoot away while Futaba chuckled. 

Mona withdrew. “Is this any way to react to a concerned friend?”  
  
“There’s nothing to be concerned about.” Her laughter persisted, but the longer Morgana stared at her, the quieter her chuckles grew. Her grin gradually faded and Futaba broke eye contact to look down at her feet.

Morgana nudged his head against her leg. “I’m here if you need a pair of ears to talk off.”

“What--What do you do when you find out you...like someone in _particular_?” She pronounced the word syllable-by-syllable hoping he’d catch her drift. Morgana found himself amused by how Futaba could crack the filthiest jokes for a girl her age, yet she found anything that involved her personally compromising her dignity. “You mentioned you’ve done that before.”  
  
“Well…" Mona drew himself up several inches with self-importance. "I treat her like the gentleman I am. I exercise tactfulness and never lose my temper.”

“Jeez, way to rub it in. Doesn’t it bother you?”  
  
“Why should it?”  
  
“Sounds like a compromising position. Thinking about them night and day, wondering what they’re up to, if they’re thinking of you when they definitely aren't--it’s just humiliating.”  
  
“But doesn’t it make you a little happy?”

“…It kind of hurts.” Futaba’s arms folded over her knees as she spoke. “I feel this dull ache in my chest as if my heart’s plunging to my stomach.” Her head dropped to rest on her elbow. “I don’t see how anyone could find pleasure in this.” 

“...Well, I get it." Morgana’s ears drooped a little as his whiskers wilted. "It hurts for me, too. I may not be a cat, yet with this feline form of mine, it doesn’t seem like it was meant to be. But you know what?”  
  
“What?” She lifted her head.

The way Mona’s blue eyes reflected the sunlight and twinkled with passion caused something in Futaba to stir. “When she laughs at my jokes or thanks me for my help, the pain seems miles away. I’d do anything to see that look on her face time and time again. Bit selfish, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, a bit.” Futaba scooted a little closer to him, now smiling. Mona did the same, relieved to see she’s recovered enough good humor to tease him. “But suppose you were _me_ and I’ve been doing the exact opposite. How would you atone for it?”  
  
“Nothing a present can’t fix.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple…” Futaba began to question the rationale behind turning to a heartbroken cat for insight on romance. “Seems a bit too convenient if you ask me. Love isn't all beers and skittles, you know.”

“With a face like yours, it should be a walk in the park.” Mona lifted a paw and bore his claws. “But if he doesn’t accept—”

“Accompanying me while I shop would be enough.” 

Futaba had once taken the train to Akihabara and back on her own on a weekend night and survived it. That being said, visiting a station’s underground mall in Shibuya was a wholly different matter. Granted, this time she had Morgana to substitute Akira, but the neighborhood of withdrawn techies and timid NEETs was nothing compared to a world of fashion designers she’d never heard of and pricey beauty brands with names Futaba couldn’t pronounce. She was better off navigating the Metaverse than a labyrinth of boutiques and discount stores.

"We're not in Kansas anymore," she whispered to her Toto substitute and prayed she wouldn't lose herself amid the alien corn.

Morgana poked his head out of the large, otherwise empty backpack bedecked with enamel pins. “You’re not chickening out, are you?”

“Me?" Futaba shrugged to pull the straps back up after he weighed the bag down and scoffed. "Nah. I’m over-leveled if anything.”

“Then keep your eyes on the stores. Ogling the walls and the floor until you run into something won’t do you any good.”

The thought of colliding with someone frightened Futaba far more than crashing into something. Regardless, his point stood. At last, she gave her surroundings a proper look and found a kaleidoscope of shoppers mingling and dispersing, nevertheless blocking her path as they chattered with airy attitude. Futaba swallowed. She supposed heroes don’t level up sticking to weak opponents.

Morgana neared toppling out of the backpack before she slipped into a Japanese sundries shop. Squeezing past clamorous grown-ups that towered over her only contributed to the list of justifications towards her distaste for roaming public areas. Futaba heaved a sigh of relief, resolving to put the experience along with the babel of voices past her to focus on the hushed store. The cashier welcomed her, causing Futaba to start before she nodded and returned the greeting in a thready voice. Morgana pressed his cold nose against the back of her head to remind her she wasn’t alone.

Futaba scanned the wares on display, wondering if she was up to the task as someone who didn’t quite have an eye for fine art. Amongst the goods were drab book jackets in a variety of dull colors and materials. She quickly moved on to examining the ornate folding fans, one of them speckled with cherry blossoms that reminded her of Haru. Yusuke may’ve appreciated the artwork, but it would’ve made a ho-hum gift on its own. She returned it to its display table and searched elsewhere.

That was when a slender earthen vase caught her eye. It stood tall on a shelf, indigo in color, and adorned with snow-white kitsunes. If anything screamed “ _Inari_ ” louder than she could, it was this. Futaba found the cashier had been preoccupied with something concealed by the counter, but whatever the case, it allowed Futaba to look over her shoulder and whisper: “What do you think?”

“Does this seem like the sort of thing your _man of mystery_ about would be into?” Though his expression was out of sight, Futaba could deduce from his tone Morgana was smiling.

Trying to ascertain whether or not the cat already knew who it was that Futaba had eyes for was not unlike tight rope walking. She compromised. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

“Your call,” he murmured, now in a solemn tone. “My thoughts shouldn’t have any bearing on a gift from you to him.” He considered the price label. “Though it’s ¥3,200, huh? Too steep for you?” Futaba hummed meditatively.

The corner shop neighboring the sundries store was equal in its vacancy, tucked away from the alarums and excursions outside the area. Futaba figured as much, considering how close the two were—she might’ve passed up the opportunity to stop there altogether if it wasn’t on the way. “I still can’t believe you got it,” Morgana remarked as he craned his neck out of the backpack to eye the paper bag she held. When positioned correctly, he could catch a fleeting glimpse or two of the cardboard box inside.

Futaba found herself split between buying matcha pocky and macadamia chocolates, paying Morgana little mind. It took some time before she finally responded, “Did you think I’d back out once I find something I know a friend would love?”

“Get the corn puffs, you’ll like them.”  
  
“It’s not just about what _I_ like. I’m bringing the snacks to Leblanc to share, so I should consider that.”  
  
“Akira likes them.” Morgana watched Futaba pace down the snack aisle for more options. “Though it’s not about Akira, is it?”  
  
“Y’know, if you’re not gonna help out, I can just toss you out of my bag and leave y--”

“Speak of the Devil.”

“Huh?”  
  
“Don’t look now, but I think our leader decided to join us.” Futaba ignored Morgana’s advice and glanced over her shoulder, drawing out an eye roll from him as she spotted Akira in the entrance with none other than Inari. Futaba tugged the straps of her backpack further up onto her shoulders and rushed towards the corner of the room furthest from the entrance to take cover behind the cereal aisle, her heart pounding in her chest. Swallowing, she leaned out one end and peered around the store for her friends, before facing the row of coolers again.

“Be careful where you swing me. I nearly turned the floor into a mess of Frosted Flakes.”  
  
“Just--I just felt like looking for string cheese,” she fibbed, backing closer and closer towards the shelves of cereal as she pantomimed contemplating the cooler for the snack in question.

Morgana frowned as his eyes narrowed with indignation. “Whatever you say. Though I can’t say I’m pleased about coming nose-to-nose with _Tony the Tiger._ Feels like a challenge more than anything.”

“Would you hold your tongue? We can’t be seen.”  
  
“Seen by who?” Futaba felt a presence next to her, causing her to nearly leap a few feet away from shock. Instead, she stood paralyzed in her spot and looked up to find Akira had squeezed himself close to her with his back against a column of oat boxes. He went on to ask under his breath, “Who’re we hiding from?”

“No…”  
  
“No?”

“Nobody—no one—I just meant we’d get kicked out if the cashier saw Morgana.”

“Way to be subtle.”

“She’s looking for string cheese,” clarified Morgana, “then we’ll be on our way out.”  
  
“I thought she hates cheese.”

“Never mind that,” Futaba cut in, “what about you?”

“Yusuke and I ran into each other, he’d just been in Akihabara to get a--well--he followed me here while I continued my shopping.” Futaba knitted her brows, prompting Akira to go on, “The mall’s a small place, though--hardly updates its stock. It wasn’t easy to find anything we haven’t already bought.”

“Not the best place to shop for gifts, huh…” Futaba’s eyes fell from Akira’s face to the marmalade-colored bag in her hand.

Akira had been too occupied with speaking to perceive this. “Now I’m just picking drinks up before we head back to Leblanc. Wanna join?” He cocked his head invitingly.  
  
Morgana’s paws reached out of the bag so the rest of himself could surface. “That’s exactly what we--”  
  
“Sorry, I’ve got plans,” declined Futaba. “Maybe later.”

“But you said we were gonna--”

“Just don’t tell Inari you ran into me here, ‘kay?” She drew a smile out of herself as well as she could manage in an attempt to conclude the conversation. Akira’s eyebrows shot up with bewilderment before furrowing, though he had no reason to argue.

Akira glanced at the end of the room in search of Yusuke. He’d been occupied with iced tea in the coolers, examining the cans, torn between mint and lemon verbena. “Not gonna say hello?” Akira readdressed Futaba, who donned a startled expression. “Just kidding. I have a habit of avoiding people I know in public, too.”

“In favor of pigging out on burgers,” joked Morgana before the young man turned to take his leave. It wasn’t until Futaba caught a deep voice mix in with a sharp one and the noises of a cash register that she emerged from the shelves to find the store empty. 

By the time she made her return to Leblanc, Futaba expected the café to be vacant—save for likely Sojiro and perhaps Akira. She even passed by the diner with Mona before boarding the train, using the “ _taxing_ ” excursion as an excuse to stall. The crowded trip home on seemed to take so long, it never occurred to Futaba she returned soon after her friends had appeared at the location to hang out. The aroma of coriander drifted through the door as Futaba crossed the threshold along with sounds of ceramic against steel suggestive of an occupied kitchen. Ryuji sat at the counter with his elbows on the surface as he lost himself in a conversation with Ann and Akira, while Makoto next to him switched between listening to Haru’s long-wound tales and correcting Ryuji’s grammar at intervals.

Once Futaba approached the counter, Morgana pounced out of her bag onto the board and searched for an opening in either conversation to insert himself into. The five of them spoke so quickly, an opportunity wasn’t likely to appear anytime soon. It was a miracle Akira spotted her by chance as he looked up from the canary-haired pair, catching her right before she corrected her frown to wear a faux grin. “Welcome back. Up for curry?”

“I ate with Mona.” Huddled in the distant corner of the cafe was Yusuke sandwiched between shopping bags with his fully-painted Higashisanjō on the table, which appeared so life-like the artist almost looked as if he had company in the form of an acquaintance. Perhaps that was why he didn’t seem to mind the isolation, so Futaba almost questioned the wisdom in approaching him. Her good sense implored her to just deliver the gift and get it over with, but Futaba’s feet cemented against the floor and her muscles wouldn’t budge an inch.

She searched the cafe for a shred of encouragement, looking towards Morgana--her substitute romance guru and temporary mentor in love—for a little push. He was too occupied gazing fixedly at his “ _Lady Ann_ ” to pay his shopping companion any mind. Futaba’s vision of the cafe almost turned hazy from how swiftly her line of sight darted from one point to the next in search of anyone to reassure her. Nearly giving up, her eyes landed on the portrait of an adoring mother smiling down at her infant. Sayuri, though not facing Futaba, wore an expression so soothing it heartened the girl as if she was her other child—or perhaps the infant in the painting herself.

Futaba readdressed the young man thumbing through a book, the tension in her muscles coming undone, and the weight of her limbs growing lighter. Following this was a series of trembling strides towards the table he sat at. She shifted the bag’s handle to her wrists, settled her hands onto the surface and rested the weight of her body into them while angling herself towards him; Futaba couldn’t be sure her fingers wouldn’t find themselves fiddling with her hair had she not found a way to occupy them. The shadow that cast itself across his book obscured the images, causing Yusuke to peer up with slight irritability. He stared at her almost listlessly, almost as if the young man was examining the wall behind her instead.

Panicking and without thinking, Futaba asked: “What’cha reading there?” Hoping to inch away from his fixed line of sight, she dropped onto the bench facing his, seating her shopping bag next to her, mindful not to drop it. He followed her with his eyes in silence, giving Futaba the impression of a gazelle or chameleon. From his perspective, it seemed like Yusuke was in a conversation with Futaba and Higashisanjō due to how level both heads were with each other. This drew out a ghost of a smile from him that made something in the pits of Futaba’s stomach stir.

Finally, he answered: “Thought I’d study the post-impressionist era. Fin-de-siècle works make for an appropriate palette cleanse.”

“Well, I—I hope you’re not through with Japanese art just yet.”  
  
“Why do you say that?” As his head cocked, Futaba reached into a bag and gingerly produced a tall, ocean-colored box. 

She slid it across the table towards him. “I saw this and just so happened to have thought of you, so it’s yours now.” Futaba’s sloppy attempt at an explanation barely clarified the sudden gesture, but Yusuke was too eager to examine the contents to pay it any mind. 

He dragged his nail across the tape sealing the lid and unfolded the top, peering into it to find the object obscured with bubble wrap. “What’s this, then?”  
  
“You haven’t figured—?” His lack of critical thinking astounded her even when she expected it. “Just take it out, already.” He obediently inserted a pair of fingers and extracted the bubble-wrap coated vase. He raised it before him as his eyes caught the light and seemed to twinkle with glee, like a child under a Christmas tree.

It took the effort of every cell in him to tear his eyes away from the gift towards his friend. “This is truly...is it really for me?”  
  
“Why so surprised? Don’t you like it?”  
  
“ _Don’t like it_? The attention to detail is superb. We could keep the vase at the cafe; Haru’s morning glories would look exceptional in it.” He weighed the vase in his hands before returning it to its box. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Futaba waved a dismissive hand, crossing her legs and drawing herself up with pride. She brought her elbows to the headrest then lifted her chin a bit, struggling to suppress a smug grin. Futaba _knew_ she had an eye for art—never doubted herself for a second. “So whose work are you checking out?”

It seemed like all at once that she took pleasure involving herself in Yusuke’s interests; not because art spoke to her but because--though she’d never admit it--anything that reminded her of Inari did. He lifted the book to reveal a cover adorned with _Daubigny's Garden_ , a beautiful mess of cyan and emerald he’d spent the previous week analyzing aloud. While others were quick to dismiss his rambling, Futaba retained a lot after secretly enjoying the tone of voice Yusuke adopted when he got excited. “Van Gogh, eh?”  
  
“That’s Van Gogh-Sensei to you.”  
  
“Not for a Western name like his.” She grinned at finding it in herself to still argue his absurdity. Futaba’d seen in anime the way romance turned girls’ brains to mush and feared her feelings would bring her down to Yusuke’s level of sanity. In hindsight, maybe that’s what she feared most about love. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, after all.

Yusuke lost himself in between pages of olive trees and bulb fields again held in one hand as the other drummed its fingers on the surface. His head angled down and caused a stray lock of his hair to fall between his eyes. Futaba’s gaze returned to the counter from where the tune of buzz and gossip drifted in, realizing from her angle how far the two sat from the rest of the group. In being tucked away into a corner with Yusuke came an odd sense of intimacy not unlike squeezing into the back of the van with him in the Metaverse; the presence of the rest of the party was a bulk that’d vanish the moment she unconsciously focused on him. 

Akira noticed the pair in the corner and called out in a voice so loud it clearly addressed Yusuke: “Hey, come to think of it—” Futaba started and turned back to her companion, catching his attention by tugging on his pinkie with her index finger then lifting her hand to indicate Akira with her thumb. Akira nodded at Futaba before proceeding: “Aren’t you going to show it to her now?” 

Yusuke brushed the stray lock away pensively before a sharp “Oh!” escaped him and sent him hunting through the plastic bags for whatever it was Akira was referring to. Akira himself dissolved back into the kitchen and was soon out of sight. Futaba shuffled restlessly in her seat, leaning towards Yusuke and wondering what he wanted to show her--what could’ve possibly made him think of her and search his luggage so eagerly. She pressed her elbows onto the table and lifted herself ever so slightly to steal a peek at the contents of his bags, snapping back into her seat when he turned to her with a glossy box in hand. “I overheard you mention this series often, so--”

Futaba caught a glimpse of a familiar logo printed onto the package, and within it sat a well-rendered figurine of a popular character. “This--” She lifted the box from his hands to study like an art critic examining a contemporary piece. “Is it for me?” Yusuke faintly smiled.

The character himself starred in Futaba’s favorite anime and was easily who she complained about most often; about how he had next to no character arc due to minimal screen time and didn’t serve any purpose beyond comic relief in the form of annoying the other members, how he couldn’t take a hint when her favorite character fell for him, and how tactless he was in dealing with her feelings. She could’ve easily voiced all this to Yusuke as well; she hadn’t enough filter to stop herself, but Futaba found so much more joy in receiving this than any merchandise she ordered on her own, the shock of it stole her voice.

“It seems you and I are more like-minded than we suspected,” his eyes narrowed in a feline manner as he smiled, sending a shiver to creep up the back of Futaba's neck. “The truth of the matter is I set out to Akihabara out of curiosity regarding your hobbies--on the spur of the moment. I couldn’t leave empty-handed so I made this purchase on impulse.”

“You were thinking of me…?”

“Is it that odd?” A crease appeared between his brows.

“What I meant was you’re always so lost in your musings,” she faltered over poorly chosen words, “I just--I don’t know--I didn’t expect you to go out of your way to pursue anything that wasn’t of interest to you.”

“Why wouldn’t it be of interest to me?” Yusuke set his book aside shifting his weight forwards onto the table with his elbows resting against the surface. He peered into her face, not with the hard look Yusuke wore while studying her features but with genuine curiosity. He hadn’t even noticed it when his knee found hers or when she chose to rest it there despite the static the contact sent through her skin. “I find _you_ interesting.”

"You--?!" That was all it took for Futaba’s insouciant facade to dissolve into flickering eyes and a scarlet face. Akira watched, unable to catch their voices and only going on what he could see for context. One by one, the rest of the party followed his line of sight towards the secluded table in the dim corner of the room where Futaba sat with crimsoned ears while she gathered herself onto the bench away from Yusuke--as if, by sheer effort, she’d be able to pass through the chair.

“What’s up with them?”  
  
“Beats me.” Ryuji returned to his curry while his companions either shrugged or nodded.

Morgana scanned the oblivious bunch around him and scoffed. “How clueless can you guys get?”


End file.
